


Five Times Alexander Hamilton was Tied-Up because He's an Idiot

by Doctor_Discord



Series: Five Times... [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex Doesn't Sleep, Blood and Injury, Blushing Lams, Fed-Up Burr, George Washington is a Dad, Herc & Laf Are the Ultimate Wingmen, Historical Inaccuracy, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Kidnapping, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sleep Deprivation, Thomas Jefferson Being an Asshole, Tied-Up Alexander Hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 21:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13983792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctor_Discord/pseuds/Doctor_Discord
Summary: Literally just as the title says. I put Alexander Hamilton in awkward occasionally terrifying scenarios because he just can't shut up. Includes an exasperated Burr, Protective Boyfriend™ John Laurens, Tired Dad Washington, Asshole Jefferson and panicking Alexander, and very gay blushing Lams with Ultimate Wingmen™ Lafayette and Hercules. In that order. Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one was strongly inspired by a fic I found on FanFiction.net called Fit to Be Tied. Here's the link, go read it, it's pretty good! https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12163514/1/Fit-to-be-Tied
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the first part of this adventure!

“Alex.”

“–ignorant, loud-mouthed, prejudice _bastard_ –”

“Alexander.”

“–I mean, it’s not like he has a _better_ plan, he just hates mine, fucking–”

“ _Hamilton_!”

“What?!” Hamilton finally stopped pacing, an obvious worn line in the wood of his office floor, looking up at the other person in the room. He cracked a grin. “Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr, sir.”

Burr sighed, feeling the beginnings of the headache that was always the side-effect of talking with the young secretary. “We need to talk, Hamilton.”

“But of course, sir.”

Hamilton sat behind his desk, propping his head up on his folded hands. Burr took the seat across from him. There was a brief pause as Burr collected his thoughts. “Alex…your plan, it’s…it’s…”

Hamilton’s face hardened before he could get the words out, eyes darkening. “I don’t want to hear it, Burr. I get enough shit from Jefferson and his fanatics, I don’t need it from you.”

“Alexander, please, here me out–”

“No, Burr. Get out.” Hamilton stood, Burr following suit, and returned to his pacing, muttering angrily in French. Burr wasn’t at all fluent in the language, but he’d spent enough time around Jefferson, Hamilton, and Lafayette when he was in America to pick up on a few key words, mainly swears. For someone so articulate, Hamilton couldn’t go a full sentence before cursing colorfully.

“Hamilton, you can’t ignore me forever!” The man in question’s mutterings grew louder. “If you want to get your debt plan through it needs help! _You_ need help! At least listen to me!”

Hamilton pointed at the door.

Burr sighed. This man was _seriously_ a walking headache. “Then I’m sorry, Alexander. You leave me no choice. I hope you can forgive me.” Hamilton glanced up, a question in his eyes. Burr raised his fist.

His eyes widened. “Burr, wait–!”

Hamilton’s world went dark.

Alexander woke with a start, jerking his head up, and absolutely _livid_. Hyperaware of everything, he immediately began jerking against the ropes tying his arms to the arms of his office chair. Burr was on his knees, securing his ankles to the legs.

“Alex, please hold still, this’ll be a lot easier if–” Alex didn’t let Burr finish, kicking the older man directly in the nose with his free leg. Burr fell backwards with a cry of pain, blood pouring from his nose.

“Have you lost your fucking _mind,_ Burr! Untie me this instant so I can ram my foot so far up your ass you–” His furious rant with cut off short by Burr shoving a wad of cloth in his mouth. His shocked expression morphed into something dangerous as the dark-skinned man pulled out another strip and tied it around his head, preventing him from spitting out the makeshift gag. Burr paused to stop his profuse bleeding, and Hamilton couldn’t help but watch smugly, despite the rage still burning behind his eyes.

“Alexander, I know your upset, but was _this_ –” He gestured to his nose. “–really necessary?”

Alex simply stared, a deadpanned look on his face.

“Fair point. Slightly hypocritical question. But, you really gave me no choice. I need to talk to you and you wouldn’t hear it.” Burr hesitantly stepped forward, then leaped, pinning Alex’s remaining free limb and finished tying it while he kicked and struggled, shouting muffled curses. Burr resumed his seat across from Alex. “You ready to listen?” The young immigrant’s eyes were narrowed to dangerous slits. His fury was practically tangible. Burr ignored it.

“Alex, the Democratic-Republicans will never agree to your debt plan. It just doesn’t coincide with their beliefs. You either have to do some major editing or…” Burr grinned. He had Hamilton’s attention. It was obvious by the way his eyes glinted with interest. “Or you could give them something in return. Something that is insignificant in the end, but seems like a big enough deal that it would pacify Jefferson and Madison.” He could see the gears spinning in Alex’s head, his brow furrowed.

“Hey Hamilton, still working on that pompous debt plan of yours?” Alexander’s head shot up with alarm, eyes wide, just as Thomas Jefferson wandered into the office, a smug grin on his face.

Jefferson’s face went slack at the sight in front of him. Burr was staring at him while Hamilton struggled wildly in his bonds, a stream of loud muffled curses making its way around the gag. Slowly, Jefferson began to grin. “Oh, I _have_ to know the story behind this. This is too good!”

Burr blinked. “Uh, I-I can explain!”

“Please do!” Jefferson had to raise his voice to be heard over Hamilton’s shrieking.

“I needed to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen, so I uh…improvised.”

“And it actually _worked_?” Jefferson’s amazement was obvious.

“Actually, he dislocated my nose initially. But yes, after he’d calmed down. Until you walked in.” Both turned to watch Alex. He glared back at them, Hellfire burning in his eyes. His struggling was violent, his back arching off the chair. Jefferson looked on in amusement, Burr concern, until they noticed the young secretary’s wrists were rubbed raw and beginning to bleed. Burr scrambled forward, trying to hold Hamilton down and prevent his thrashing. “Whoa, calm down, Hamilton! Hamilton! _Alexander_ , please, just sit still, I’ll untie you, alright! But you have to sit still!”

Alex almost immediately calmed, staring up expectantly. Burr moved slowly, pulling a small dagger from a sheath hidden by his purple coat. He cut Hamilton’s legs free first, carefully cutting his wrists free as to avoid the aggravated wounds. Hamilton was perfectly still the entire time. When he was done, Burr took a couple hurried steps back as Alex tore himself free of the demeaning gag. Standing, he marched toward Burr, his steps purposeful as he stalked the shorter man. A brief, tense silence filled the office as Hamilton glared down at Burr, his jaw locked, an aura of wrath and outrage almost visible surrounding him. In a flash, Hamilton’s fist lashed out, hitting Burr squarely in the jaw. The dark-skinned man slumped to the floor, his nose bleeding again.

Alexander spun around, facing Jefferson. He’d watched the silent exchange with a mix of awe, fear, and concern. Hamilton held up both hands, flipping his rival off as he exited the office. “Sucer mon cul, Jefferson.” 

Jefferson stared after Hamilton with a strange look on his face, translating the French easily. Finally, he just shook his head, following the younger man out the door.

Alexander Hamilton was _insufferable_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and John get captured by British soldiers and Herc and Laf (eventually) come to their rescue.

            “Hamilton, is it?” Alexander didn’t respond, just glared at the British officer. “I hear you are General Washington’s favorite.” Alex snorted, struggling against the coarse ropes the British had bound him with. If only he could reach his dagger, hidden in a small sheath on his belt, but his hands were tied behind him, he couldn’t _quite reach_ –

            “I wonder what Washington would do if I returned you to him in a box?”

            Alex looked up sharply at that, eyes wide with alarm. It took all he had to bite back a sarcastic comment, his usual defense. Not that the British bastard would hear it with the gag that had been shoved in his mouth within the first five minutes of his capture due to his constant cursing and ranting.

            “Don’t you _dare fucking touch him_!” Alexander stiffened. He glanced to his left, where his best friend and lover John Laurens glared at the officer he’d nicknamed Dickhead with steel in his eyes. Alex winced when Dickhead paused in his pacing in front of them, stopping in front of Laurens.

            _John, please,_ please _shut up._ Dickhead turned to face Laurens directly. “What did you say to me?” _Please John don’t make it worse–_

            “I said,” John said slowly. “Don’t you dare lay a fucking finger on him or I will _personally_ kick your ass.” Alex inwardly groaned, increasing his struggles, if only to distract from his lover. John could be more stubborn than him at times and now was _not_ the best time to show that trait. Unfortunately, Dickhead’s eyes remained locked with John’s.

            A sharp crack echoed through the air, and John was thrown to his side, a red handprint on his cheek. Alex made a furious noise, the sound replaying over and over in his head. John was struggling to sit back upright with his hand tied behind his back. Dickhead grabbed a fistful of John’s hair, yanking him upright as John muffled a cry of pain. He leaned in close, Alex watched as his lover’s face crinkle with disgust. “Listen here, you traitorous _scum_.” Dickhead practically had pressed their foreheads together. Alexander was getting more agitated and angry with every second. “I will do what I want, when I want, to whoever I want. You cannot stop me. In fact, why don’t I demonstrate just how _helpless_ the both of you are?”

            Finally, the officer dropped Laurens. Alex let out a sigh of relief. That is, until he noticed he was approaching _him_ instead, a knife drawn and glinting in the light of the moon above. For a brief, everlasting moment, Hamilton’s mind was completely drowned in terror. Then the logical part kicked in and he kicked out with his bound legs, tripping the British menace. For a second Alex was filled with a smug satisfaction, defiance glittering in his eyes, but then Dickhead stood and the animalistic look on his face made him regret every decision he just made.

            He was on him in a second, his head yanked back and the edge of the blade pressed against his bared throat. He could hear the sounds of a struggle next to him, likely a British soldier wrestling with John as he shouted in outrage. All of Hamilton’s focus, however, was on the officer in his face. His breath reeked. The look in his eye made him wonder if this man was still in his right mind.

            All of that fled him when the blade was dragged across his throat.

            Alexander panted heavily, trying his best not to scream, but unable to help the strangled cry as his own blood ran warm down his skin. He knew it wasn’t deep enough for him to bleed out, but that meant nothing to his panic-pain hazed mind, his heart hammering in his chest. Laurens was screaming his name, but he could barely hear it. His vision had glazed over, everything was unfocused and hazy, oh God was he actually dying? Was he wrong? Is this where he dies?

            He was jolted back to reality by a hand tugging forcefully at his hair and rancid breath by his ear. “If we didn’t need you,” the officer whispered, “I really would send you back to Washington in pieces.” Hamilton couldn’t tell if he should be terrified or relieved, his breath hitching. “But.” The officer grinned. “That doesn’t mean I can’t leave some marks.”

Both Alexander and John let out a surprised noise as Dickhead began unbuttoning Alex’s shirt, leaving it hanging open and revealing his chest. Alex struggled fruitlessly through the whole process, not making it easy. John continued to shout profanities as Dickhead shoved Alex onto his back and picked up the knife once more, the edge dripping red, blood, _his_ blood, and Hamilton felt like his heart was beating out of his chest, his eyes locked onto the metal.

Dickhead touched it to his bare chest, a gentle touch, no pain to it, as he turned to face John. “You will tell me Washington’s plan of attack. Every detail of his strategy. Every piece of information you know or else…” He dug the blade in Hamilton’s chest, not too deep, but deep enough for blood to immediately well from the wound and he made a strange gurgling sound in the back of his throat, the resulting sharp swallow making his injury there sting and throb.

            Alexander locked eyes with John. His lover dropped all his defenses, revealing just how frightened he was, how worried he was for the both of them. His hope for a rescue was dwindling and, honestly, so was Hamilton’s. They were far into the forests of Pennsylvania, in an obscure clearing that the British had set up camp in. Hamilton nodded once. John’s eyes hardened once more and he glared back at Dickhead, who had watched the exchange with diminishing patience.

            “I– _we_ –would rather die.”

            The grin they got in reply chilled Hamilton to the bone. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, however, before he was screaming, the officer digging into his chest with a feverish enthusiasm. He will always deny the tears that escaped his closed eyes, biting into the gag in an attempt to stifle his cries. His ears were ringing. John’s voice sounded miles away. Suddenly it stopped, and he could breathe again, his breaths coming in rapid, ragged gasps.

            “I will ask again–what are Washington’s plans?”

            John remained firm, despite his lip quivering. “Kiss my ass.”

            Dickhead raised the knife, that disturbed grin on his face. Hamilton’s chest was painted red. He let out a desperate whine when it was placed against his skin, flinching hard.

            The forest exploded.

            Men, _American_ men, swarmed from the trees, two familiar figures at the head. Within seconds, all British forces, save Dickhead, were dead or dying on ground. Dickhead stood above Hamilton, brandishing his knife wildly, scattering his blood everywhere. It wasn’t long before a bullet hole was in his forehead and his body was being dragged away.

               “Mes amis! Are you alright?!” Lafayette raced forward, Hercules on his heels, fear, worry, and concern etched in every line on their faces. They reached John first, attempting release him and check him over, but he shook them off.

               “I’m fine! I’m fine, check on Alex, he’s seriously hurt, Herc _get off me_ , get to Alex!”              

               Lafayette obeyed John’s demands and made his way over to him. At first glance he thought Hamilton was dead: blood painted his chest, staining the white of his uniform, and he was lying completely still on the ground. The cut on his throat didn’t help. But then Laf noticed the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and his eyes were open, glazed, but still carrying life. The Frenchman bent over him, carefully working out the gag, and, taking out his canteen and handkerchief, gently, methodically, began to clean him up. “Mon ami, Alexander, pouvez-vous m’entendre?”

               Everything felt a thousand miles away. Even so, Alex slowly forced himself to look toward the man kneeling next him, then cracked a smile. “Laf…” He coughed, back arching. “Vous…vous avez pris assez longtemps…” His eyes rolled back in his head and Hamilton was out cold.

                “Is he alright?!” John came hurdling toward them, skidding to a halt next to Alex’s head. One look at his closed eyes and he began to breakdown, stifling sobs by biting his lip.

                “Relax, mon ami, he is just asleep. He’ll be fine.” Lafayette placed a hand on John’s shoulder, Hercules appearing on his other side. After a moment, Laf spoke again. “Come. Help me untie him, then we can bring him back to Washington. He’ll be fine, John.”              

                “I hope so, Laf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mes amis!" = "My friends!"  
> "Mon ami, Alexander, pouvez-vous m’entendre?” = "My friend, Alexander, can you hear me?"  
> “Vous…vous avez pris assez longtemps…” = "You...you took your time."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washingdad takes care of Literal Human Disaster Hamilton.

               Alexander’s head dropped onto his desk, barely making contact before he shot up again, muttering a slur of French and English before going back to scribbling with his quill. This happened several times within five minutes, and George Washington sighed from the doorway. No one had seen Hamilton for several days, nearly a week. He’d been slaving away in his office, going on and on about his debt plan. George had been secretly hoping he’d been leaving late, having the sense to sleep at least a little, but apparently not.

               Alex hit the desk again, and George decided to intervene. Knocking on the doorframe, it was slightly amusing to watch the young secretary shoot up again, a page stuck to his forehead and others scattered about. “Jesus Christ! Ne me blâme pas, Jefferson started it!”

              George raised an eyebrow. “Jefferson started what, son?” Alex rubbed his eyes, removing the paper from his forehead, leaving a large ink stain. When he looked up, his eyes widened and he promptly fell out of his chair.                             

              “Oh! Sir! Sorry, I-I didn’t realize it was you!” He bounced back to his feet, brushing himself off, and almost immediately his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed back into his chair. George, alarmed, raced forward.                

              “Hamilton! Hamilton, are you alright?!” The Virginian had just reached Alex’s side when the man started, suddenly awake again.      

              “Gah! Debt! Work! I have to…have to…” He rubbed his eyes, glancing to his side and jumping again. “Washington, sir! When did you get here?”              

              George was growing increasingly worried. His brow furrowed as he studied Alex’s face. It was pale and gaunt, dark, bruise-like bags hanging under his eyes. “Hamilton…son, when was the last time you slept? Or eaten?”              

              Alex’s own brow furrowed, thinking. “Uh…Tuesday.”              

              The president’s eyes narrowed. “Today’s Tuesday.” 

              “I know.”       

              George sighed, then lifted Hamilton up out of his chair, slinging one of his arms around his own shoulders, holding the man up. He was worryingly thin, light. “That’s it, Alex. I’m taking you home.”

              Alexander made a small noise of protest, leaning back toward his desk even as George began to haul him out of his office. “But sir! I have so much work to do, I don’t need sleep, I’m fine!”  

              “Alexander, you’re killing yourself. I’m taking you home, whether you like it or not, and you’re going to sleep. Then eat. Then staying home until I deem you fit enough to return back to work.” Alex whined in protest, but he couldn’t muster the strength to struggle against the former general’s grip. George led him to his personal coach, giving the directions to Hamilton’s home, then propping the boy up inside before climbing in himself. At some point, Alex had fallen asleep. George couldn’t help but chuckle at the fact that, even asleep, he was never quiet. He kept muttering, the elder man able to pick out a few words here and there, mainly ‘Jefferson’, ‘debt’, and ‘work’. A surprising amount of it was in French. 

               Within no time, they’d arrived at the Hamilton residence. Scooping the young secretary up in his arms, George worry over his weight increased. He was so _light_. He felt he could accidentally crush him if he squeezed too hard. Sighing, he made his way to the front door, frowning when he realized the door was locked. Reluctant to do so, but having no other choice, George slowly shook Hamilton awake. “Alex. Alexander. Where’s the key to your home?” He slurred something in French, before opening his eyes halfway and pointing vaguely to the right. 

               “Hmm…Eliza…lantern…” Within seconds he’d dropped back off, snoring lightly. 

               Chuckling softly, George shifted Hamilton in his arms, lifted the lantern and snatched the key, unlocking the door and letting himself into their home. He’d never been here before, but it wasn’t much of a surprise to see the mess everywhere. If Hamilton’s desk was anything to go by, he wasn’t exactly a neat person, and it looked like his children had inherited that trait. George smiled to himself. Still, it was a nice home. There was a portrait of Alexander and Eliza hanging on the wall, of them on their wedding night. Alex was grinning broadly, looking down at his wife as she gazed back up at him, a soft smile tugging at her lips. Papers covered every inch of every flat surface, crumpled up and scattered across the floor, likely the product of Alex’s crowded mind. He really did write like he needed it to survive. 

               George’s gaze swept the house one more time, his eyes narrowing to slits when he noticed the fine layer of dust coating every surface. Alex said he hadn’t slept in a week, but the elder man had a sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t even been home in much longer. Suddenly bone-weary, he carried the young secretary upstairs to his bedroom, obvious by the cluttered desk in the corner and the dresses in the closet. Gently, he set Alexander down on the bed, removing his green coat and pulling the blankets over him. He immediately burrowed into the blankets, letting out a happy sigh. George smiled, remaining for a moment longer as he debated whether to stay sure and make sure Alexander _stayed_ asleep or go downstairs and trust his right-hand. After a brief internal conflict, he turned towards the door, sparing a glancing back over his shoulder at the content man, then returned to the ground floor to clean up a little and wait for Alex to wake.

               As George sifted through the scattered remnants of Alexander’s thoughts, he couldn’t help but feel a glow of a pride. The papers were crumpled, the ink was smudged, most of it was barely legible, but what he _could_ read…Alex was, for lack of a better word, a _genius_. They described different ways to get their country out of debt, scrapped essays for the Federalist Papers, eloquent letters for his wife and Angelica who were currently upstate, something he called the Coast Guard, it was overwhelming. There were essays against slavery, depicting some of the brutality he witnessed growing up in the Caribbean, all so beautifully written it nearly brought George to tears. He organized them all into piles, smoothing them out, and left them neatly on the dining table. He’d just finished that when Hamilton wandered down the stairs. 

              “Hamilton, what are you doing?”  

              Alex jumped. “O-oh! You’re…you’re still here. Why?”       

              “Because you need sleep, and I’m going to make sure you get it. There is no way you slept soundly.”       

              He looked indignant. “Of course I did!”           

              “It’s only been twenty minutes, Alexander.”        

              “Oh…”        

             Alex stumbled against a wall, smiling sheepishly up at the former general. George sighed. “Come on. Let’s get you back to bed, son.”      

             “M’not your son.”      

             “I know.” Alex grumbled as George ruffled his hair a bit. They reached the bedroom, and he leaned against the doorframe as Alex climbed back under the covers. “Please, get some sleep.”                 

             “But, sir, I really don’t have time! I have to get my plan through Congress, or I-I’ll lose my job! I really should get back to work!”       

             George crossed his arms. “I swear to God, Alexander, if you don’t stay in this bed I will tie you to it. What you _should_ get is some decent sleep. You’ll kill yourself otherwise. I’ll be up to check on you soon. Good night.”      

             “’Night, sir.” Alex’s eyelids were visibly drooping, and he was snoring by the time George turned his back. He shook his head at the young man’s stubbornness. In some cases it was needed, like with this debt plan. In others…it could get him killed. Like with his debt plan.        

             Alexander Hamilton would be the death of him. He could feel himself growing older.      

            He sat at the table, staring into the cup of coffee he’d made. He loved Alex like a son, despite his protests, and he knew Alex looked up to him, too. He never talked about his past before New York much, but from little he’d gleaned from him over the years, he knew his father had split when Alex was just a child, the death of his mother following shortly after. Alex’s past was a tragic, and he tried to forget it. George felt the need to take care of him, having no biological children of his own.   

           Sighing for what felt like the fortieth time, George stood, moving to head up the stairs and check on his right-hand. When he got there, he couldn’t help his anger level rising. “Hamilton.”  

           He saw Alex flinch, bowing further over his desk, his quill moving faster. “Sir.”     

           “What do you think you’re doing.”     

           “Working, sir.”     

           Of course. George stepped forward, effortlessly lifting him out of the chair. Alex made a surprised and shocked noise, struggling as much as he could with his exhausted muscles in George’s iron grip. “H-hey! Put me down! Washington, sir!” He threw him onto the bed, pinning him there as Alex writhed beneath him.    

           “I wasn’t kidding when I threatened to tie to this bed, Alexander. You _need_ to _sleep_. Take care of yourself, Goddammit. Forget about work for a while.” He watched as Alex’s eyes widened as George revealed the small coil of rope he’d found in the kitchen, just in case he really did decide to be as stupid and stubborn as he usually was. He quickly and efficiently bound Alexander’s wrists to the headboard, ignoring his protests and fighting. He backed off quickly, avoiding Alex’s flailing limbs and tuning out his colorful swearing. He hoped his struggling would tire him out enough he’d fall asleep sooner. As it was, he was still shouting profanities in a rapid mix of French and English as George walked out the door. He settled in the only room him found with no evidence of belonging to one of the many Hamilton children and went for a quick nap himself.    

            When Hamilton woke up nearly fourteen hours later screeching and screaming colorfully in his two languages, George couldn’t help but grin at a job well done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Ne me blâme pas,” = “Don’t blame me,”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is the product of 'What if Hamilton didn't go as willingly to Jefferson's compromise as the soundtrack implies?' WARNING WARNING WARNING This one contains a pretty graphic panic attack and a super shitty Jefferson taking advantage of it.

               “Hamilton, I have a proposition for you.”

                Alexander glared up at the man perched atop his desk, quill threatening to snap between his fingers. “Get off my desk, Jefferson.”

                Jefferson feigned hurt. “Ooh, so prickly. That will do you no good. Especially with what I’m about to offer.”

                “I don’t give a flying fuck about your handouts. Get off my desk, get out of my office, and stop bothering me. Go do something productive for once. Like removing that stick from your ass.”

                Jefferson’s face hardened for a brief moment, before fading into one of a nonchalant ease. “Alright. Alright, I’ll go. I mean, us meeting up to compromise for your dept plan was never going to work anyway.” He paused, glancing at Hamilton with a smug smirk, an expectant look in his eyes.

                Hamilton’s writing didn’t even stutter. In fact, he wrote faster. “Do I need to repeat myself?”

                Jefferson sighed, finally slipping off the desk. He made a show of brushing off his flamboyant purple coat. “You’re missing out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Hamilton. I’m willing to tolerate your presence and work out a compromise. You sure you’re willing to pass that up?”

                “Fuck off.” Alexander looked up. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to bow down to your wishes in this ‘compromise’.”

                “You won’t ‘bow down’ to anything! It’s a _compromise_ , Hamilton! Or are you so stubborn you don’t know the meaning of the word?”

                “Suck my ass, Jefferson.” He had to stifle a laugh at his rival’s expression. “The only reason you’re trying so hard to get me to agree to this is because you clearly have a ‘compromise’ in mind already. I doubt you’ll stray from it. So, by denying you my consent for this compromise, I may not get what I want, but you sure as Hell won’t get _you_ want.” Now, _he_ wore the smug grin, Jefferson’s face morphing into one of outrage.

                “You’re willing to risk your plan, the thing you’ve been working on since the _war_ , just to deny me?”

                “That about sums it up, yes.”

                Jefferson snorted, not believing his ears. “Insupportable bâtard. Baiseur têtu.”

                “Je ne savais pas que vous étiez si habile à vous décrire,” Hamilton deadpanned.

                The dark-skinned man made his way toward the office door. “You’re making a mistake.”

                Alexander didn’t even look up. “I doubt it.”

                It was beginning to grow dark out, and Hamilton was still scribbling furiously at his desk, though his eyelids were beginning to droop with fatigue. He absent-mindedly rubbed at them, sighed, then began to pack up, figuring Washington would be livid if he didn’t get some decent rest, judging by the last time the president discovered he was sleep-deprived.

                There was a knock at his door. He looked up sharply, then grinned. “Madison!” His eyes narrowed. “Jefferson’s not with you, is he?”

                The elder man shook his head. “No, just me. May I come in?” Alex nodded his consent, and Madison slowly took a seat across from him. There was an awkward, slightly tense silence spanning between the two for a long time, until Madison sighed. “Listen…Alex, in all honesty, I think your plan is ingenious. It’s brilliant! I don’t know how you ever came up with it.”

                Alexander raised an eyebrow. “If that’s so, why do you continue to back Jefferson? Why do you refuse to let it pass?”

                “Because, Alexander, it’s too centralized on the government! We fought for freedom, and now that we have it, you want to build up another oppressive government, by our own hand! I can’t allow it!”

                “A strong government doesn’t mean it’s oppressive! You saw what happened with a government too weak, we were a disaster with the Articles! We still _are_ a disaster, so deep in debt we’re about to drown! We need a way out, at the same time earning ourselves some social standings in the world! I have the solution, yet your party refuses to let it pass!” Hamilton was fuming by the time he was done speaking, a familiar fire burning in his eyes.

                Madison pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning before dropping his hand. “Alex, please, if you’ll just meet with Jefferson–”

                “Ah.” Alexander’s voice was suddenly dead, emotionless. “So that’s what this is about. What, is Jefferson using you to convince me to go to his stupid meeting? It’s not going to work. I refuse. Go tell that egotistical bastard that he can shove his compromise so far up his slave-holding ass he’ll be picking shit and paper out from between his teeth for a month.” His eyes were smoldering.

                The dark-skinned man sighed, standing. “You won’t change your mind?”

                “Never.”

                “Alright. But, just for the record, I did try. Remember that.” Alex opened his mouth to question him, but all that came out was a strangled cry of surprised indignance as Madison lifted him out of his chair and pinned him to the floor, quickly tying his wrists behind his back and binding his ankles together before tucking the writhing man under his arm and walking out of the office.

                “Madison, what the actual _fuck do you think you’re doing_! This is kidnapping! Let go of me right fucking now or I swear to God I’ll–mmph!”

                Madison slapped his free hand over Hamilton’s mouth, muffling him. He made an outraged noise and began to struggle harder, forcing Madison to shift his grip. “Hamilton, please don’t make me gag you.”

                He stopped moving immediately, and the elder man dropped his hand. “You wouldn’t fucking _dare_.” His voice was practically a growl, full of dangerous warning. His eyes were practically glowing in the dark.

                “Try me.”

                In true Hamilton fashion, the second they got outside, Alex started screaming and squirming like a fish out of water. He didn’t actually call out for help, his pride wouldn’t allow it, but that didn’t stop him from making enough to noise to sound like someone was being murdered. He continued to struggle in Madison’s grasp as the bulkier man raced toward the coach waiting for them, emblazoned with Jefferson’s coat of arms. He tossed the still-screaming Hamilton in first, quickly climbing in himself. He shoved a handkerchief in Alex mouth, hand covering it to keep him from spitting it out as he writhed, trying to dislodge the large hand. Thinking fast, he tugged the cravat from around Hamilton’s neck and tied it around his head as the young secretary kicked out at him, eyes squeezed shut and muffled curses bouncing around the carriage as it rolled forward.

                When he was done, Madison quickly got out of Hamilton’s range. He kept struggling, jerking at the ropes and eventually falling onto his back, bucking and arching his back, muffled grunts and obscenities escaping more often than not. Madison just watched in slight, hesitant amusement. Even from this angle, he could see Alexander’s eyes seethe as he kicked against the coach’s door. Finally, they reached their destination. The coach rattled to a halt, and Hamilton bolted upright, locking eyes with Madison. The Congressman suppressed to urge to cringe away. The Wrath of Alexander Hamilton was something to witness, but he never knew just how terrifying it was to be on the receiving side of it.

                Steeling his resolve, however, he reached toward the smaller man. He paused when Alex jerked away, snarling through the gag. Madison sighed. “Alex, I’m not going to hurt you.” He reached for him again, causing Hamilton to curl farther into the corner, growling low in his throat. He looked much more liked a cornered, feral animal than the brilliant, smart-ass of a man that gave Madison and Jefferson such a continuous headache. Without warning, Madison snatched Hamilton from the carriage and bolted out of it, Hamilton shrieking and writhing as the dark-skinned man slung him over his shoulder, hurriedly knocking on the door of Jefferson’s New York home.

                When Jefferson opened the door, his jaw dropped into a shocked expression at the sight before him before it curved into a grin, ushering Madison inside. The elder secretary led them to a lavish dining room, pointing at a chair sitting across from two others, and Madison dropped Hamilton gracelessly in it. The young immigrant glared at the two Virginians as they stood behind their respective chairs across from him. He looked truly disheveled, panting hard. His hair, normally so pristinely held up by a loose ponytail, was falling into his eyes, framing his face and in general a frizzy mess. His eyes burned with the rage of a thousand suns, darting between the two of them as if predicting who will make a move first.

                Of course, Jefferson didn’t last long. His lips slid upwards to form a smirk. “I see someone was problematic,” he said, looking Alexander up and down. The man in question’s eyes narrowed, tugging on his bonds as Madison laughed.

                “You have no idea. He’s hard to keep a hold of. Kept screaming, too.”

                “I can imagine.” Jefferson circled around the table till he was standing behind Hamilton. He noticed the way the man tensed up at his approach, spine stiffening, his panting becoming harsher. He trailed a hand over Hamilton’s shoulder before looking back to Madison. “What do you say we hear what he has to say, hm?” And with that, he tugged the cravat down around his neck, moving back to his spot.

                Alex took a moment to spit out the soaked handkerchief, letting out a loud, hacking cough afterwards. When he caught his breath, his face immediately hardened. “ _You_ ,” he spat, locking eyes with Jefferson, “are fucking _dead._ ”

                Jefferson feigned shock, gasping and placing a hand on his chest, eyes widening, before he broke, face becoming a blank slate of emotion. “I told you, Hamilton. I wanted to meet, discuss our options. With your _consent_ or not.” He took his seat, Madison following suit, and folded his hands together. “So. Let’s discuss.”

                Alexander’s scowl twisted into a wry smile. “I hope you realize the second I am out of this room I am going to _ruin_ you. You _kidnapped_ me. Imagine how fast you both’ll lose your jobs when the public gets ahold of your business ethic, what _Washington_ will do. You forget, I’m a _lawyer_ , Jefferson. When we’re done here, your life as you know it is over.”

                “When we’re done here? Does that mean you’ll hear us out?”

                “I don’t have a choice.”

                Jefferson laughed. “I suppose you don’t.” Hamilton’s mouth drew into a tight line when the taller man revealed a rolled-up piece of paper, smoothing it out across the table. After sharing a glance with Madison, Jefferson leaned back in his chair. “We are willing…” He was hyperaware of Hamilton’s eyes studying every move he made. “…to let you pass your debt plan, as is, if you give us the United States capital, right on the Virginia-Maryland border.”

                There was dead silence. Then, abruptly, Alexander barked out a laugh, much to the Virginians’ shock. “I said I would hear you out, seeing as I am here _very much_ against my will.” He leaned forward, crooked grin on his face. “But, even if I was planning on complying here, what in _God’s_ name makes you think I’d agree to that? I happen to enjoy New York. If you’re so homesick, _Thomas_ , you can go back anytime you want! That would benefit the both of us so much more! I wouldn’t have to stare at your stupid, ignorant, arrogant face every day, and you get to be home, ‘creating’, fucking your slaves.” He sat back, taking great pride in watching Jefferson’s face darken as rage crossed over it.

                Jefferson was shaking when he stood sharply, chair scraping along the floor. “You loud-mouthed, hot-headed, piece of shit–” He started toward where Hamilton sat, vaguely aware of Madison scrambling out of his seat to hold him back. “Let me go, Madison! _James, get the Hell off me!_ ” He fought in his friend’s grasp, his vision tunneling so all he could see was Hamilton’s smug little grin, defiance bright in every feature on his face. Jefferson just _wished_ he could knock that stupid expression of the young immigrant’s face, watch his head snap to the side, watch the bruise bloom–

 _Oh_. Realization clicked in Jefferson’s brain and he went slack in Madison’s grasp. Hesitantly, his friend released him, taking a few steps back. Hamilton arched an eyebrow. Jefferson drew a calming breath, smoothing down his magenta coat. “No. I refuse to let you provoke me, Hamilton. I refuse to lay a hand on you, to fan the fire.”

                “Ah, il y a donc un cerveau dans ce crâne épais! Peut-être que cela aurait plus de présence si vous atténuiez cette coiffure ridicule.” Madison placed a hand on Jefferson’s shoulder as his eyes flashed at Hamilton’s words. Reeling in his anger, he turned and stiffly walked back to his seat, Madison on his heels. The tension was so thick it was nearly suffocating as Jefferson and Hamilton locked eyes, electricity sparking between them, equally stubborn and unwilling to bend.

                “What,” the elder Virginian managed to grind out through clenched teeth, “would you consider a fair deal? I am still willing to negotiate despite you grating, abrasive personality.” He forced a tight smile.

                “First off, I would like the use of my limbs back. Mind granting me that? Or are you too worried you’ll say something you’ll regret and I’ll ruin your pretty little face?” He stuck his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout, and Jefferson had to lock his jaw in order to bite back a retort, gesturing to Madison. The bulkier man stood, obeying Hamilton’s wishes. Jefferson took note of how Alexander rubbed his wrists, red, angry abrasions evident encircling the tender skin. He took the time to redo his cravat, staring the two dark-skinned men down all the while. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Secondly, I have a proposition of my own.” Jefferson raised an eyebrow expectantly.

                Hamilton bolted.

                Jefferson immediately tore after him. The Caribbean man didn’t get far before he was tackled to the ground, pinned beneath Jefferson’s weight. He winced, choking back a cry of pain as Jefferson gripped his wrists tight. Still, he fought hard, writhing and trying to throw the other man off of him. “Get the fuck off me, Jefferson! I want no part in your delusional compromise, just let me go! Connard! Mère baiseur! I will _ruin_ you, you sans émotion, égoïste, soulless, poor excuse for a human being! I–” Jefferson brought his hand, formerly propping his body up, around and slapped it to Hamilton’s mouth, ignoring his shriek of outrage. Lying completely prone over Hamilton’s body, he glanced over his shoulder at Madison, grinning madly.

                “I can see why you gagged him! I knew he could talk but–ow!” He jerked his hand away, staring briefly at the teeth marks indenting the palm before hauling Hamilton onto his feet and forcing him back toward the dining room. “You aren’t going anywhere,” he hissed. “Not until you sign.”

                “Suck my dick, Jefferson,” was Hamilton’s snarled reply. He was shoved roughly back into his seat, Jefferson holding him down as Madison rebound him, this time to the chair itself. He squirmed and bucked, the chair thumping against the floor as he strained, fists curled, knuckles white. “ _I fucking hate you_ ,” he spat, glaring at Jefferson with a renewed loathing.

                “What a pity,” Jefferson drawled.

                A small smile graced the State Secretary’s face as watched Hamilton struggle and jerk in his bonds, circling slowly back to his seat, revealing a quill and inkwell stored in his coat, and setting them down directly in Alexander’s line of sight, pushing the unsigned compromise in front of them. “Come on, Hamilton. No need to drag this out any longer than you already have. Just give us the capital, and you can walk away with your ‘assumption plan’. It’s really quite a generous offer.” Hamilton said nothing, just stared at Jefferson with undisguised hatred and defiance.

                “No.”

                “Oh, come _on_ , Alexander! Don’t be such a child!” Jefferson banged a fist on the table. Just then, a loud _CRACK!_ of thunder shook the room, making all three men jump. Soon after, the steady thrum of rain began to sound, signaling the start of a storm. He looked up, smile softening. “Ah, I do love the sound of rain, don’t you? It’s…calming.” When he drew eyes back down to meet Hamilton’s, Jefferson actually took a step back in shock. The young secretary’s eyes, always burning with intelligence, were blown wide and glazed over with what he could describe as _fear_. Pure, unadulterated _terror_. Thunder sounded again, and Hamilton flinched, curling in on himself as much as he could.

                The second Alex remembered he was tied down, he began to thrash, violently writhing in his bonds. His harsh, ragged breathing echoed in the dead-silent room, hitching whenever thunder boomed. He grew more frantic every second, the world fading around him and suddenly he was seventeen again, staring at what remained of his home, water everywhere and the bodies _oh God the bodies they were everywhere the stench making his eyes water and oh God everything hurt why couldn’t he have drowned as well he didn’t want to see this–_

               A sharp stinging sensation on his cheek jolted Hamilton back to the present, tears running down his face, blood down his wrists as the already aggravated skin was rubbed completely raw. Jefferson was standing in front of him, shaking him, screaming at him.

                “Hamilton! _Hamilton, calm down!_ What the Hell has gotten into you! Pull yourself together, _Hamilton_!”

                He flinched away from his rival’s touch, whimpering as the panic and the memories began to completely overwhelm him. “Let me go! You _have_ to let me go, please, _let me go_! Jefferson, Thomas, _please, James let me go I can’t I can’t the bodies please I just want to go home_!”

                “Bodies?! What the Hell are you talking about? You need to stop struggling, for God’s sake, Alexander, you’re making yourself bleed! Plus, you’re not going anywhere until you sign the damn compromise!”

                Hamilton was in complete hysterics at this point, each clap of thunder sending a fresh wave of sobs, a fresh wave of pain and memories, wracking through his small frame. “Fine! Fine, I’ll sign the compromise, I’ll do anything, I won’t tell anyone about tonight, I don’t care, just _let me go!_ ”

                Madison pushed Jefferson to the side, holding a small knife. When he approached the panicking man, he couldn’t help but cringe away when Hamilton flinched away, a series of whines, and whimpers flying from his mouth. He muttered a quick “sorry” before bringing the blade to the ropes, ignoring Alexander’s hoarse, strangled sob, thrashing harder. “Jefferson, hold him down! He’s not in his right mind, I-I don’t want to hurt him accidentally!” For the first time in his life, Jefferson obeyed without a word, in a state of shock at seeing his long-time rival, despising each other the moment they saw each other, reduced to _this_. He held Hamilton’s arms down while Madison quickly sawed through the ropes. In no time Hamilton was standing, already racing out the door when Jefferson, coming to his senses, gripped his arm.

                “Sign the compromise.” He ignored Madison’s disapproving scowl and snort beside him. Hamilton didn’t even protest, scribbling his name messily across the bottom of the paper and then he was gone, leaving the two Virginians' in shock.

                “What…what just happened?” Madison sounded dazed, confused.

                “I have no idea but…” Jefferson held up the paper, Hamilton’s rushed signature a dark stain. He grinned. “…I do believe we have a capital to build.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Insupportable bâtard. Baiseur têtu.” = "Unbearable bastard. Stubborn fucker."
> 
> “Je ne savais pas que vous étiez si habile à vous décrire,” = "I had no idea you were so adept at describing yourself."
> 
> "Ah, il y a donc un cerveau dans ce crâne épais! Peut-être que cela aurait plus de présence si vous atténuiez cette coiffure ridicule.” = Ah, so there is a brain somewhere in that thick skull! Perhaps it would reveal itself more if you got rid of that ridiculous hair style."
> 
> "Connard! Mère baiseur! I will ruin you, you sans émotion, égoïste, soulless, poor excuse for a human being!" = "Asshole! Mother fucker! I will ruin you, you emotionless, egotistical, soulless, poor excuse for a human being!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laf and Herc intervene and basically tell Alex and John to kiss and figure it out. With some added drama in between.

               “I am going to fucking _murder_ Lafayette.”

                Alexander squirmed where he sat in the hard, wooden chair, loathing palpable as he glared at the ropes encircling his wrists and binding them to the arms of the chair, almost like he was hoping his hatred could burn right through them. He squirmed again, knuckles white.

                “Alexander.” He refused to look up, cheeks darkening when the other man in the room spoke up. “Alex, please, look at me.” He obeyed, and was met with the concerned eyes of John Laurens. The freckled man was in a similar position to Alex, sitting directly across each other, their legs bound together and forcing physical contact. It took all of Alex’s concentration not to flush again when he met John’s eyes. “Do you know what’s going on?” Alex bowed his head again, tugging forcefully on the ropes and muttering unintelligibly under his breath. He couldn’t help thinking back to how they got into this mess, scowling at the fresh memories.

               _“Hey, Laf, where are we going?” Alexander looked up questioningly at the Frenchman he’d come to see as a brother. Lafayette just chuckled, raising a hand to the small of Alex’s back to steer him in the right direction._

_“Chut, mon ami, it is a secret. Come, Hercules and John will meet us there.” Lafayette led him far out in the woods. Alex began to fidget nervously the further they got from camp, looking over his shoulder constantly._

_“Laf, are you sure this is right? We’re pretty far out, what if we get ambushed?”_

_“We won’t.”_

_“But–”_

_“Trust me, petit lion. It is safe.” Seconds later a small cabin came into view. Lafayette gently, yet slightly forcefully with the hand on his back, led Alex inside. He wondered if it could even be called a cabin. It was one room, the interior bare and void of any furniture or decorations except two wooden chairs in the center, facing each other. Lafayette gestured for him to sit, and he obeyed. Lafayette took up position across from him, leaning against the wall behind the second chair. Alex continued to fidget, drumming his fingers against the arm nervously. Lafayette had said Hercules and John would be meeting them, didn’t he? So where were they?_

_Just then the cabin door was thrown open and Hercules burst through, John on his heels. “See, John! I told you they’d be here! Stop being so nervous!”_

_“Please, have a seat, mon ami.” Lafayette stood straight when John took his spot. Alexander couldn’t help but squirm. John was_ so close _their legs were practically touching._

_“Hey.” He drew his eyes to John’s confused, smiling face. “Did Laf tell what they’re doing? Herc wouldn’t budge.” Alex shook his head, allowing a tiny smile himself. John sat back with a huff. “Damn. I suppose we just have to wait it out. Hey, where’d they go anyway?”_

_Alex straightened up at that, suddenly more alert. John was right–Lafayette and Hercules had vanished. His eyes narrowed. “What are those two planning? I don’t like it.” He made to stand, but then hands appeared out of nowhere, shoving him back down. “What–hey! Laf, get off of me! What are you doing?!”_

_“Calm down, Alexander.” He glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes immediately widened. Panicking, he began to struggle in Lafayette’s iron grip as the Frenchman began to wrap rope tightly around his wrists. Distantly he heard John’s own shouts of defiance and confusion._

_“Lafayette, what the Hell do you think your_ doing _? What is this, what’s going on! Fucking_ answer me _, Goddammit!” Alex writhed and bucked in Lafayette’s grasp, but, even with his struggling, he was tied down in no time, arms straining around the thick cord. Lafayette then get on one knee, beginning to tie Alex and John’s legs together, binding the two men to each other. Hercules joined him after a second, working on the other side. Alex and John exchanged looks before Alex kicked out at Hercules, but the bulky Irishman caught it, pinning it to the chair leg and hurriedly tied his side together. When they were done, Lafayette and Hercules stood, admiring their handiwork. Alex and John struggled fruitlessly, shouting curses in a slurred mix of English, French, and Spanish, respectively._

_“Hamilton, Laurens, please, let us explain!” Hercules’ tone was bordering on pleading. “We do have a reason for this!”_

_“Yeah, will it better be a really_ fucking _good one otherwise I_ will _report you to Washington! This is not okay!” Alexander was furious, ignoring the sharp gasps of both John and Hercules at his threat. He continued to struggle, not caring that his wrists were beginning to hurt._

_“Alex, wait! Stop moving!” His movements stilled at John’s voice, glancing up at his friend’s face. John’s eyes were wide with barely disguised panic, and Alex felt his blood boil. But then he grinned shakily. “Let’s…let’s hear them out.”_

_Hercules clapped, making the both of them jump. “Great! Laf, this is your territory, so take it away!”_

_Lafayette shook his head, smiling. “We have noticed the way you two keep–how you say?–dancing around each other and decided to intervene.” Alex flushed bright red but John just looked confused. Lafayette placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, meeting his eyes. “Seriously, Dites-lui simplement que vous êtes amoureux. La tension sexuelle est palpable.” Alex didn’t know how to respond; he just stared up the Frenchman, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as he turned away and walked toward the door, Hercules grinning at his side. “Work it out, mes amies! We’ll be back in an hour or so!”_

_And then they were gone._

               “Alex! Alexander!” He shook his head, knocking the flashback from his head at John’s cry. John’s freckles practically glowed in the sparse candlelight, making him appear so much younger, a sense of child-like curiosity within his eyes, his head tilted like a confused puppy. “What were you thinking about?”

                Alex’s face heated up.

                _My God he’s adorable._

                He shook his head, adverting his gaze. “Nothing.”

                John pouted. “Fine, don’t tell me.” A comfortable, albeit slightly awkward, silence filled the cabin. Alex fidgeted uncomfortably, acutely aware of John’s eyes on him. The silence seemed to stretch indefinitely. Alex’s mind was running a million miles a second. How did Lafayette and Hercules know about his stupid little crush? What should he say in this situation? How was Laurens so unaware of how adorable he was, with his little smile, and bright green eyes, the way he made a little squeal and shook Alex lightly whenever he saw a turtle because _Aren’t they the best animal, Alex?_ For Christ’s sake, he was _married_. They both were! That didn’t stop him dreaming though.

                “What did Lafayette say to you?”

                Alex blinked. “What?”

                John was staring off into the distance. “Before he left. He said something in French, then ‘work it out’ and left. What did he say?”

                _Oh shit_. Alex was never one to be at a loss for words. In fact, he continuously made _other_ people at a loss, too busy talking himself. He never ran out of words. But, when faced with that question, with the cute little head tilt and how innocent John looked in this moment, Alexander Hamilton was reduced to a stuttering mess. “U-um, w-w-well, um, I-I-I–” He was cut off by John’s laughter, ringing out in the small space. His blush darkened. “H-hey! Why are you laughing?” John’s grin let up the room more than any stupid candles could, his eyes sparkling with something Alex couldn’t quite place.

                “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just…I never thought I’d see you like this!”

                Alexander immediately bristled. “Like what?”

                “This! A blushing, stuttering, lost-for-words Alexander Hamilton. The world must be ending.” Alex’s eyes widened at the blush creeping up John’s face. “Frankly it’s…it’s adorable.”

                “I…uh…” Internally Alex was screaming. _What just happened?!?!_ “Um…thanks…?”

                _Oh my God I am such a moron._

John chuckled nervously, turning his head away. The silence stretched further, the tension between them growing until Hamilton couldn’t take it anymore. He felt as if he would actually implode. “Just tell him you’re in love!”

                John’s attention snapped to him. “…What?”

                His face was burning. “Um…that’s what-what Laf said…before he walked out…‘Just tell him you’re in love…’ O-of course there was more tacked on to it but I’d rather not say that out loud if you don’t mind.” He smiled sheepishly up at John.

                “Oh.” John’s face was completely slack. Alex felt his heart sink. Slowly, though, realization dawned on John, his eyes widening and his freckles–some day he was going to count all of them–were gradually buried beneath his blush. “ _Oh_ …! You…I…But…” He let out a disbelieving laugh, grin splitting his face. “You…you _love_ me?”

               Alexander didn’t hesitate. “Yes, yes, oh God yes, from the moment a saw you in that bar, you were just so cute and you still are I could go on for day on how much I love your freckles an-and your smile and your eyes and how they sparkle when you’re excited and that little noise you make when a turtle wanders into camp you’re just so precious I don’t want to think of how my life might be changed if you hadn’t barged in.” He grinned. “Whether I like it or not, you have made yourself a home in my heart and my affections and I don’t plan on letting you go any time soon.”

                He carefully studied John’s face. The other man seemed to be in some state of shock, his eyes locked with Alex’s. He looked lost and confused, yet that something Alex still couldn’t place burned bright in his gorgeous emerald eyes. “…John…?”

                A sob broke through the air. Alex immediately sat straight, attempting to reach out to John when he was distinctly reminded of his bonds. “John?! Are you alright?! John?!”

                “I love you, too!” Alexander jumped, not expecting the outburst. “I love you, too, love your laugh, love the way passion burns in your eyes when you’re writing or talking and oh God I love your voice I could listen to you talk for days and I just love _you_ , Alexander, everything that makes you _you,_ I can’t get enough of.” John was crying, flushed, panting hard, his soul completely bared for him to witness and Alex had never seen someone more gorgeous than John Laurens in this moment.

                “John…” Alex would be lying if he said he didn’t shed a few tears himself.

                The door chose that moment to burst open.

                “Ah, I see you have talked it out!” Lafayette was grinning like the mad Frenchmen he was when he laid eyes upon his two prisoners. “I take it you are both finally on the same page?” Both Alex and John exchanged looks, blushed, then nodded. Hercules clapped happily.

                “Finally! Laf and I were losing our minds watching you guys eye-fuck each other when you thought the other wasn’t looking! If you’re going to mentally strip someone, at least learn to do it more subtly!” He laughed when John’s jaw dropped and Alex spluttered indignantly.

                “Whatever, Herc,” Alex managed to get out. “Just untie us? Please? Bastards.” He made a show of straining against the ropes and flipping the other two immigrants off. Lafayette chuckled and drew his dagger sheathed on his belt, making quick work of the ropes.

                “There! Now, will you two les amoureux be able to keep this very forbidden relationship a secret or are you going to get caught with your hands all over each other?”

                Alexander responded by surging forward and claiming John’s lips as his own.

                Kissing John was so much more different than anything he’d ever experienced. Eliza’s lips were always so soft, so pliable, while John’s were hard, steady, yet still held a sense of fragility Alex didn’t want to break. He was vaguely aware of John’s hands resting on his cheeks, cupping his face, pulling him closer, and he reciprocated the action. They were breathing the same air, sharing the same life. John tasted of cheap military alcohol and…was that cinnamon? Whatever it was, Alex wanted more, more of John lips, more of just _John_ , but not right now. Not here. Right now, he was content to just hold him close, with the sweet press of their lips, reveling in the moment. He didn’t know when he closed his eyes, but when they parted for air, foreheads pressed together, and he slowly opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of grinning, almost drunk-looking John beneath him and all he could think was how much he loved this stupid, South Carolinian, turtle-obsessed man, and how much he wanted to stay in this moment forever. He didn’t care that Lafayette and Hercules were cheering enthusiastically nearby, just watched in complete enrapture as John’s eyes fluttered open, how they just seemed to pull Alex in drowning him in love–

                That was it. That thing he could never identify in John’s eyes when he looked at him. _Love._

                “Alex?” John’s voice was breathy, raw, broken. His warm breath puffed against Alex’s cheek, sending tingling sensations all along his spine.

                “I love you.” Alex’s whispered words were for John only.

                John connected their lips once more and Alexander had never felt such happiness in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Chut, mon ami." = "Hush, my friend."
> 
> "...petit lion..." = "...little lion..."
> 
> "Dites-lui simplement que vous êtes amoureux. La tension sexuelle est palpable.” = "Just tell him you're in love. The sexual tension is palpable."
> 
> "...les amoureux..." = "...lovers..."

**Author's Note:**

> All of my knowledge of French is from Google Translate, so if anything is horrifically wrong, let me know! Anyway, what Alex says to TJeffs at the end is "Suck my ass, Jefferson."


End file.
